The Taste Of Loneliness - One Shot
by sroker
Summary: It's been ten years since Hermione Granger's mother died, and she is still trying to cope. Hermione is being forced to go to therapy to discuss her life, and throughout the session, one might discover just what secret she has been keeping inside her this whole time...


Hiya. So this is my first EVER story and I really do hope you enjoy it as I'm hoping to make more. I might however, have to ask you for advice. This is a one-shot **BUT **i may want to continue off from this story and make it a longer story. If I do, this will be the first chapter, with a few additions. And the story will go from there. If you read this please leave a comment and let me know if I should continue this and make it into a story ... or just tell me if you think it's shit. Any feedback will help! :)

Cheers

XXXXX

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She was beautiful. Jean Granger. Long, brown hair with a hint of auburn that, when the sun hit correctly, turned her hair slightly golden. The kindest smile that instinctively made you smile back, and the kind of elegance in the way she moved that could not be taught, but was natural for her. Graceful, was one way to describe her. So intelligent and dependent on the need for consuming information, for devouring it. It was her life. Then everything changed. Her personality, her looks. She became someone else entirely. She was no longer nurturing and kind, but troubled and tormented by her inner demons. Her long blonde hair became thin and dirty, whilst her smile that so clearly defined her as a person, melted away until all that became of her was a blank and emotionless face.

It was then that not_ only_ the grace and the beauty she once had left her. It was the thing she loved and prided herself in the most. Her intelligence. And awkwardness and fear took its place. Ironic, that the very thing she had lost; her intelligence, was to be her the meaning of her daughter's name in the future.

"Hermione?"

My eyes whipped up, stopping my train of thought and my attention refocused to the person in front of me. Evelyn. Today she wore a lace, white vest with a cream, pleated skirt down to her knees. Black, satin heels that were about the height of my thumb and a smart gothic styled, vintage blazer that cinched in at her already tiny waist. She was dressed appropriately for work. I was still uncertain on how I felt about her though. I neither liked, nor loathed her. I nothing-ed her. She was there for one purpose, to help me get better. Even though I knew there was nothing to fix, my father on the other hand thought differently and decided to send me here. To therapy.

My father. He's never been a real father to me, or else he wouldn't have left us when I was younger and he wouldn't have sent me away, to the boarding school in which I am still at. Too obsessed with his own life, and his own family that he can't and won't give me the time of day. Always angry or upset at me for one thing or another, or just starting arguments with me for the sake of it. The last argument we had was about my magic. After the war it has been all over the place. When Harry died everything changed. It brought back memories of my mother's death and as a result, my magic has gone haywire. Talking to Ron helped a bit though, but not for long. As time went on, we got into more arguments and we both realized that without Harry there to tame us both, we really had little in common and decided to part ways. I was homeless and was forced to move back in with my father, much to my distaste. It was fine for the first week or two, and then all hell broke loose. Not being able to control my own magic at times is bad enough, but to have my _father_ contributing in a "not so positive manner" was the icing on the cake. Barking out profanities whenever he could and saying that it is my fault my magic has gone wild and that I'm doing it on purpose out of spite. Claiming that I am a lost cause and that I don't want to get better. He couldn't handle living with me so he gave me some money, enough for a while to live off, gave me the keys to the flat in London and told me to pack up and leave. Not before telling me that if I wanted to keep staying in the flat I would have to attend monthly sessions of therapy. Defeated and otherwise homeless, I begrudgingly accepted. So we rarely speak, and I think it's better that way.

"Hermione?!" Evelyn repeated once again, this time an octave louder to ensure that I was listening. She continued.

"How has everything been?"

I did not grace her with a reply, as I thought the question would answer itself. I just sat, looking with an emotionless face at the table in front of me, focussing on her desk plate bearing the name Evelyn Dawson. I heard her sigh and took this as an opportunity to sneak a glance up at her. She looked defeated. A year of therapy with me had not done her any good. My refusal to speak _and_ my attitude had taken a toll on her and I could see she was getting tired of it. She begun massaging her temples, a sign that she had begun to get a headache and was growing impatient with my refusal to cooperate. She was a woman in her late thirties. Tall, with a thin frame and hardly any bust. Eyes, the colour of the ocean in the Caribbean, full, plump lips the colour of strawberry candyfloss, and very dainty posture. So much so that one would think she might break if you weren't too careful, however she _was_ trained in self-defense and combat as all Ministry employees are required to after the war ended. She was the type of woman who wouldn't catch your eye at all at a distance, but once you get up close and really see her, she really was quite breathtakingly beautiful. I envied her in that way. The big toothed, wild haired, goody two shoes. One third of the "Golden Trio". I sigh. Not anymore, I thought to myself. I could see the creases in her forehead and the beginning of wrinkles around her eyes. She was also biting her top lip, another sign I learnt that meant she was close to her breaking point. I had obviously gotten to her today.

After another minute or two, she took her head out of her hands and resumed her position almost exactly as before, looking intently at me.

"Look," she began, "I know you don't want to be here and to be honest I'm starting to feel that way too. But I can't help you if you're not willing to help yourself. Or at least cooperate, making my life and yours easier."

I bit my lip. I knew she was right, but I just didn't want to venture there just yet. I didn't want to tell her everything. Not yet.

"We'll start off easy," she continued, though I could sense she was hesitant about something. Looking at me with timidness and sincerity, she said the following words that I never thought she would say.

"How's your father?"

My heart skipped a beat. She had never asked about my father. She knew that was dangerous territory. However, some small part of me was glad she asked. My relationship with my father was a broken one and I knew that, but I never talked about it with another person besides my mother and I couldn't do that now. I took a deep breath.

"Timothy is fine" I responded tightly. Not wanting to share anymore about my father than that, I changed the topic.

"Weather is nice today" I said casually, as I tore my attention from her and onto the clear, blue sky. A beautiful summers day. I scowl. The atmosphere, the heat, the casualness. It was almost exactly the same as it was ten years ago.

"You're changing the subject Hermione" Evelyn reprimanded, clearly irate and trying to get a rise out of me.

"I don't like talking about it Evelyn," I whispered after a minute or two.

She looked at me. Surprised that I had indeed took the bait "hook line and sinker", and responded in a way she deemed acceptable, even if it was only minimally. Surprise quickly disappeared. She tilted her head, and I could sense the next question.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why not talk about it?"

Silence.

"What do you have to lose?" Evelyn asked softly.

"What do I have to gain?" I asked back, now irritated.

She was silent for a moment. A smug look spread across my face, believing that I'd won the argument. However, a second later she replied with an answer.

"Happiness."

I was that one word that made all the difference. It was the one thing I wanted so badly, yet deprived myself of it deliberately for a reason I did not fully understand. I didn't want to be depressed for the rest of my life and I didn't want to talk about my mother's death, but I knew I had to. I knew that the only way to move forward was to relive the past. Even for just a few minutes. It was what I was afraid of, but I knew I had to in hope to begin my life again.

Take it slow, I thought to myself. I can do this.

"I was ten when it happened. Ten when my life changed."

She positioned herself comfortably as she knew it was going to take a while, and then nodded her head beckoning me to continue.

"My childhood was an amazing one. Full of laughter and love. My parents at the time were happily married and life couldn't have been more perfect. Then, when I was four, my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She got prescribed pills for it, but they didn't really have much effect. A few months after her diagnosis, my father decided that it was too much. That she was uncontrollable and beyond hope. He left her."

Evelyn looked at me with sympathy and I could sense she was slightly nervous, wondering where this was going. I curl my hands up and entwine them together in a plea for some form of comfort. Something I have deprived myself of for years. I bow my head, looking at my thin fingers and averting all eye contact I could have.

"He left her when she needed him the most. She was desperate for help, and I became the only one she had left."

Hesitant to continue, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Counting down from ten, I calmed myself and by the time I reached one, I knew I could go on.

"After the divorce following her diagnosis, my mother was never the same. She began to get depressed and scared. Hallucinating and not being able to control it was the worst. By the time I turned six, my mother was a completely different person. Isolated from the world, terrified to venture out or do anything. It was as if our roles had been reversed. I had to take care of my mother, instead of her caring for me. A six year old making food and cleaning the house. Having to go to school with dirty clothes because we didn't have enough money for washing powder."

I paused. Do not cry, I thought to myself. Remembering it all was painful. As if I was reliving it all over again. I looked out of the window onto the street as I resumed, hoping to distract me whilst I told Evelyn my story. I knew it wouldn't work.

"She hit rock bottom not long after my tenth birthday. It was a nice day. Much like today. The sun was out and I can remember seeing a flash of gold in her hair, even though it was only for a second. The mood quickly changed though. She started hallucinating and hearing voices. It was the worst I ever saw her. She was so worked up and out of control, when I went to touch her in attempt to calm her down, she hit me. She never hit me before, and I think it triggered something inside of her because she instantly stopped hallucinating and apologized to no end."

I touched my face, remembering where she had hit me that afternoon. Remembering how it had left a bruise for days. How I had to say that I had an accident when my teacher asked me what happened. How she fell on her hands and knees and wept for days, saying she was sorry. And myself. A ten year old, not knowing what hell to do.

"She never forgave herself. She was depressed even more after that, and started having more hallucinations than ever. It was about two months after my birthday when it happened."

I looked from the window back to Evelyn, who was sitting with both hands covering her mouth. I became aware that Evelyn did not know just how much I had been through. That I was just another girl who was depressed from her parents' divorce, or from losing her best friend. She couldn't have been more wrong, and from the look of sorrow on her face, she realized that too.

"It was nice night. The smell of summer was there and the stars were out and shining brightly. We even went to the park earlier that day. It was ever so warm, we had to stop and get an ice-cream. We just sat outside for ages. Just talking and being with each other. She seemed fine." I shake my head, still confused as to what brought her following behaviour on. I scrunch my eyes up, not wanting to relive it. But knowing that I have to.

"I remember being woken up by my mother at three in the morning. I remember asking if she was okay. She just looked blankly at me and told me to get dressed as we were going for a drive. I don't know where we drove to. I fell asleep in the car ride going there. All I remember is waking up in the middle of nowhere, and in front of us was a cliff."

I glanced at Evelyn. Her face was scrunched up mirroring my own, uncertain whether or not she wanted to hear the rest. I felt apologetic for having to tell her this as it was not her burden to bear. However, I reminded myself that it's her job, and forced myself to go on.

"I was confused and scared, much like her. She kept muttering things like how it would be better this way and how we had no one. That no one else loved us."

I paused, knowing this would be the climax of my story and would therefore be the most painful part to tell. A few tears fled from my eyes and I quickly wiped them away. Having been through enough as a child, I felt like I had cried enough tears for an entire lifetime. Not wanting to seem weak again, I promised myself not to cry even though I knew I wouldn't keep my promise.

"I looked at her then. Really looked at her. She had mad eyes that were almost red, her hair was tangled and dirty, and she was looking at me with her emotionless, flat and apathetic face that was once so beautiful, but in that moment left no trace of it. And then I realized that she wasn't my mother anymore. She was a stranger that couldn't be helped. Then she smiled. It was not her usual sweet smile, but a sadistic smile that did not belong to my mother. Then she said the last words she would ever say to me."

Evelyn was on the verge of tears by this point and on the edge of her seat. She looked at me intently and beckoned me to continue with nothing but her eyes.

""I love you." That's what she said. Then she started driving. It took me a moment to realize what she was doing. She was going to kill us both. I undid my seat-belt and threw myself out of that car. The last thing I remember was an explosion and the smell of fuel and burning flesh."

Evelyn covered her mouth in shock and proceeded to cry. I felt like doing the same, however nothing would come out. I was numb. I had been for ten years.

"About three hours had passed until someone found me sitting in the exact same spot in which I fell. They saw the car and called an ambulance. I couldn't move. I had a broken arm, a few cracked ribs and was in a state of shock. The next thing I knew, I was moving in with my father and Laryn my stepmother, and that was it. We never discussed it, ever. It was as if she had never existed."

I halted, and I tried to put into words what I had been feeling for what felt like my entire life.

"Terror became my childhood best friend, where the concept of love and compassion was an ever-distant dream I could only hope for."

"Oh Hermione! I'm so sorry" Evelyn sobbed.

I didn't know what to say. I was used to people saying they're sorry about my mothers death, but this was different. I had openly told her everything about that night. About everything. I gazed at her and I knew her apology was sincere. After Evelyn calmed herself down she looked at me and smiled. In that moment, she reminded me of my mother. The corners of my mouth twitched.

"That's the most you've talked in a year Hermione. It's progress, and it's just the beginning. Now that you've opened up to all of that maybe you can let people in, instead of pushing them away because you're afraid of losing another person in your life."

I nodded, unsure of what else I could do. Seconds. Minutes. What felt like hours passed us by. But neither of us said anything, until finally Evelyn asked the question she was waiting to ask the whole session.

"How do you feel Hermione?" She asked softly.

I looked at her, and for the first time in ten years, I see hope. That maybe I can have happiness again, and that I can move forward instead of looking back.

Relief swept through me, and I did the only thing I could think of. Something that belonged to my I hadn't properly done in years. I smiled. Her smile.

I got up, ready to leave our session. Just as I had reached the door with the exquisite brass handle in my grasp, I turned to Evelyn and replied with confidence and complete honesty.

"Hopeful."

And with that, I was gone.


End file.
